Three Decades of Pretending Come to an End in a Military Holding Cell

“I’ll read it over once I’m done unloading the car,” I said.

He let out a long sigh and wandered back toward the living room, leaving the papers lying next to the rusty key.

By ten hundred hours the morning heat was already rising off the concrete driveway.

The inside of the old sedan still smelled of pine air freshener.

I dragged a heavy green duffel out of the back seat and set it down on the gravel.

Aunt Martha parked her Buick on the street and came up the gravel path holding a glass casserole dish.